


Second Choice

by Wiccy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Both Partners Are Thinking of Somebody Else, F/M, Frenemies with Benefits, bickering as foreplay, no romantic feelings, working some shit out by fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiccy/pseuds/Wiccy
Summary: Sorry this is a little late. I hope you enjoy.
Relationships: Faith Lehane/Spike
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Flash With Benefits





	Second Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/gifts).



> Sorry this is a little late. I hope you enjoy.

They had both had separate, intense arguments with with the same person not long ago that left each of them with an itch they had been unable to scratch with their normal nightly violence. When they came across each other in the crypt entrance to Spike’s lair they were both spoiling for… something that would take the edge off.

“Skulking around in crypts is super creep behavior, even on a Hellmouth.”

“I live here, what’s you’re excuse?” he’d moved out of the shadows and closer when she acknowledged his presence.

“I’m the Slayer, I don’t need an excuse.”

“You’re a slayer, but you’re definitely not _the_ Slayer,” his gait gave his hips a slight sway as he moved.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, I hit a nerve?”

“Fuck you,” she was within reach now and pushed him backward with both of her hands. His backside hit the sarcophagus that stood in the center of the graveyard enclosure.

“Well, somebody’s tetchy. Feelin’ inadequate are we? Realize you’re everybody's’ second choice?” 

“Better than being everyone’s last. How’s Drusilla doing?”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish you could fuck me.”

Spike pushed away from the stone box, invading her space, looking down on her. His lips came together in that smug, hollow cheeked smile he did so well. “Second. Choice.” 

Two of his fingers slid into the waist band of her pants up to the second knuckle, the brush of his chill flesh sending goosebumps across her warmer skin and an unexpected shock wave to her groin.

“You’re a pig.” He noticed that she made no attempt to dislodge his offending digits and pressed his luck, moving them side to side in a testing caress.

“Best pork loins this side of Sunnydale,” her lip curled upward on one side in response.

“Shut up,” she grabbed him by the lapels and spun him around in a wide one-hundred and eighty degree arc and drove toward him with a little more violent force than he had anticipated. She drew blood when her mouth collided with his, but he wasn’t sure whose blood it was. 

The hand tangled at the nape of her neck tugged hard on her hair in response, jerking her head backward briefly. They were both angry, more than willing to take it out on each other, and very much liked it rough. The next time their bodies came together – a clash of wild limbs and frantically shed clothes – had actually cracked the stone wall they’d landed against. Spike had simply grunted, returned her smirk and ripped her bra free of her chest. When his teeth found her right nipple, Faith cried out and ground down harder on the fingers that had already found their way into her wet folds. 

She clawed at his back and locked her legs around his hips when he picked her up, shoved her against the cracked wall and pressed himself inside her. Impaling his length fully within her in one rapid lunge. She was demanding his continued movement almost before his first thrust had finished and he obliged her, setting a punishing rhythm meant to drive them both to the pits of hell and back again. Eventually, they slid to the floor where they could both enjoy the better angles. Their kisses we few and far between and were more a clash of teeth and tongues, a feral outward display of their internal emotions. 

This wasn’t love or admiration. Hell, it was barely even proper lust. Any feelings involved here weren’t between the two people whose naked bodies were currently pressed firmly together, moving against one another with vicious, bruising abandon on the cold cement floor. They both knew it and it didn’t seem that either of them cared. Whatever else it was or wasn’t, it was clearly what they both desperately needed to maintain something inside themselves. It was solace and release and the freedom to cry out the wrong name – the same name – in the height of passion without having to give even a single shit what the other person thought, or having to deal with the fall out after all the grunting and coming was done. 

He wasn’t the blonde she wanted her legs and breath entangled with. She wasn’t the slayer he wanted to have writhing and coming apart beneath him. Now, for lack of the desired alternative, they each would do. And maybe, once they'd done this enough, they could both fuck Buffy out of each other's system. If they couldn't? At least they'd both get enjoyment out of trying.


End file.
